The bishop drew a long breath. "I am delighted to hear it, because I haven't got any money yet. It has all gone in salaries of missionaries, and your friend Mr. Clark has put me to a lot of extra expense. I knew he would the minute I saw him."
"But this church," said Belding with a little lift in his voice, "is going to be built without money. Peterson, the masonry contractor at the works, will give the stone, and his masons will donate the labor. Borthwick, another contractor, will give the lumber and his carpenters will put it together. Windows—plain glass of course—and the various fittings are all taken care of by different people, and there was just one thing I found a little difficult, and now that's all right."
"And what was it?" The bishop was leaning forward, his large, expressive eyes very bright.
"Cement, sir. No one seemed to have any to spare. Finally I went to
Ryan—I don't know whether he has met you."
"Yes, an excellent type—one of my own countrymen. I like Ryan, a strong Romanist, isn't he?"
"Yes, but finally I ran him down and told him I wanted enough cement to build a Protestant church."
"But—-"
"But, listen! Ryan thought it over for a minute, then his eyes began to twinkle and he pointed to his storehouse and said that if it would cement the Protestant church together I might take the pile."
Elsie laughed, while the bishop relapsed into deep body-shaking mirth.
"Splendid! Fine chap that Ryan. He's from Maynooth and I'm from Lurgan and who says the Irish don't hang together? So it's all settled?"